BUNNY'S IMPROVEMENT. HOME AGAIN.
The time had arrived when the holiday at Scarborough was to come to
an end. The last evening was spent on the cliff. It was while they
were all sitting on the hillside looking out to sea that Frank began
to talk to them about "lighthouses," those tall buildings, having a
strong lantern at the top, the bright light from which can be seen
far out at sea, so that sailors may know to what part of the coast
they are going, and may steer their ships in such a direction as to
avoid danger, or guide them into a place of safety.
Then Miss Kerr told them a story about a lighthouse, and how a brave
and thoughtful little girl was able to save a great ship from being
dashed to pieces on the rocks. This lighthouse was at a very
dangerous part of the coast, and every day the lamps had to be
cleaned and fresh oil put in them, and the great metal "reflectors"
that were behind the lamps and threw the light far out to sea had to
be burnished.
The little girl was the child of the keeper of the lighthouse, and
he often took her with him to stay there. He had a companion, for in
lighthouses there are mostly two men; but one day this companion
slipped off the ladder up which he had to climb to light the lamps
in the great lantern, and broke his leg. At the same time he struck
his head and became insensible, and so the father of the little girl
was obliged to leave her and to fetch a doctor. He meant to come
back very soon, but the doctor was out, and in trying to find him he
was away for many hours, and by the time he could get down to his
boat a great storm had come on, and the waves were breaking over the
shore so that he could not put out to sea again.
Night was coming on, and the poor fellow paced the beach and
wondered what was to be done, for it would soon be time for the
lamps to be lighted, and there was nobody in the lighthouse but the
helpless man and his little girl. The sailors and fishermen all came
round, but it would have been a desperate venture to put out a boat
in such a storm, and with the great waves roaring and leaping on a
long sharp ridge of rocks quite close to where the lighthouse stood,
nobody could have expected to reach it alive.
At last, just as the night was coming on, the poor fellow prepared
to risk his life rather than leave the ships that might be far off
at sea without a guide or a warning; but six strong men dragged a
large boat down to the edge of the shore where the waves were
lowest, and agreed to share his danger. Their hands were on the boat
ready to push her in and then scramble to their places; an old
fisherman was in his seat ready to steer, when he suddenly gave a
shout and pointed towards the lighthouse.
There from the lantern high above the roaring waves shone the
brilliant beams of the lamps, and with a hearty cheer the brave
fellows drew the boat back, and shading their eyes with their hands
stared as though they had never seen the familiar light before.
All night long they watched, till at break of day the storm abated,
the sea grew still, and far far away they could see a great
three-masted ship rolling and tossing, with one of her sails blown
to rags, but still keeping off the shore. The pilot had seen the
lights, and so knowing how to steer had kept her away from the rocky
reefs where she might have been dashed to pieces.
It was not till the sun rose high and they were able to go out in
their boats that the men on shore could take the doctor to the
lighthouse, and then they found the little girl kneeling beside the
injured man and feeding him with some cold tea which had been left
in the teapot. He had come to his senses, and had tried to crawl to
the ladder, when he heard her voice singing softly right up in the
lantern. He contrived to drag himself along the floor of the room,
and could just see a gleam from one of the lamps coming through the
chinks of the wood-work. The child, when she found her father did
not return, had grown afraid; but her great fear was that the lamps
would not be lighted, and as the place grew dark she made up her
mind to try to light them herself. She had seen her father clean the
lamps, and had been with him up the ladder, holding his strong hand;
and she knew too where the match was kept, for she had been shown
everything about the place while she was there on those long days
alone with her father till the other man came on duty in the
evening. So up she went, softly singing a hymn to herself, and after
steadying herself by one of the iron rods that supported the
lantern, put the lighted match to the wick, and was so startled to
see the great yellow glare that shone from the reflector that she
nearly lost her balance. When she reached the bottom of the ladder
she found her friend looking at her quite wide awake; but he could
do nothing to help her, except by telling her how to manage the
light, and also how to move up there in the great glass lantern of
the lighthouse, so that she might reach each lamp in turn.
When her father came up the steep stair, followed by a dozen of his
comrades, she gave a cry of delight and was in his arms in a
moment; and she was soon made such a pet of by the men there that
they all wanted her to accept knives, and rings, and pocket combs,
and even tobacco-boxes, because they had nothing else to offer her;
but she had her father and that was quite enough for her, and as he
held her to his breast she could feel his tears fall upon her head,
and yet he was as brave as any man who lived upon that coast.
"However could she do it?" said Bunny, who had earnestly listened to
this story.
"She forgot all about herself, Bunny, and thought only of other
people and of the duty that was straight before her," said Frank
gently.
Bunny remained very serious all the rest of the evening; perhaps the
story of the child lighting the lamps reminded her of the trick she
had played poor old Ashton when she poured water into his
wine-glasses.
But as we have seen already, Bunny was improving, and her mama was
indeed delighted to notice the change, and quite shared her sorrow
that they were so soon to leave for London.
A day or two before they had begun to pack up Mr. Dashwood brought
the children glorious news. Frank Collins was to go to London and
stay with them till the arrival of his mother, who was on her voyage
home and would be in England in a few days. Then he was to go to
school, and perhaps Mervyn would some day be sent to the same
school, but of course in a lower class.
This last part of it was not very cheering for poor Bunny, and she
was ready to cry; but she looked at Miss Kerr's kind gentle face and
saw the look of joy in Mervyn's eyes, and so she choked back her
tears, and presently when Mervyn said softly, "Of course I can't
help being glad, Bunny, but I shall never be anything but sorry to
be parted from you;" she was ready to say, "And I shall be awfully
sorry, Mervyn dear, but then when the holidays come we shall both
know so much more, and--and--"
Here poor Bunny broke down and hid her face in her pinafore. But the
next day she had recovered her spirits, and she and Mervyn were
talking over their future plans, for it would be some months before
her cousin would know enough to enter even the lowest form. But one
chief reason for their rapid recovery of spirits was that it would
be a whole month or more before Frank himself could begin his
studies, and there were promises of visits to the Zoological
Gardens, the great Palm House at Kew, the old Tower of London, and
other places which would remind them of the stories they had heard,
and of the books which they had yet to learn to read.
They had all these things to talk about when they found themselves
in the train that was to carry them home, and were so full of plans
and expectations that they were many miles upon the journey before
they remembered that they had not waved a good-bye to their old
friend Oliver's Mount, or thought of the sorrow of leaving
Scarborough for smoky, noisy, old London.
THE END.